


Stop Stop (Cater to My Feelings First)

by fishyspots



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Always, Gen, M/M, eleanor's not really in this, harry is late, the catering au you never knew you needed, they work in catering, theyre not famous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s his first day of work and Harry is going to die. He has never catered before and he got this job because of his friend Nick (who will never let him forget it) (not that it matters because Harry is so dead) and he’s already running late. </p>
<p>Alternately: Harry starts at a catering company and Louis is his supervisor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Stop (Cater to My Feelings First)

It’s his first day of work and Harry is going to _die_. He has never catered before and he got this job because of his friend Nick (who will never let him forget it) (not that it matters because Harry is _so dead_ ) and he’s already running late. 

 

Harry manages to remember his keys as he runs (hops) toward the door, trying to button his shirt and put on his shoes at the same time in the hopes of saving a few minutes. He lets a string of expletives loose when he realizes he has less than a quarter tank of gas to get across town and find a parking spot, but sighs and shifts into reverse because does he have another choice? 

 

He’s nervous for the entirety of the drive to the civic centre; how did he miss the five alarms he set this morning? When he reaches the building, he pulls into the parking ramp and - mercy of mercies - there’s a spot on the first level. He’s not _late_ , not quite yet, but he has approximately fifty seconds to get in the building and find the kitchen before he is.

 

Harry throws his door open and sprints, appearance be damned, across the road and into the large doors marked “ _Staff Only_ ” in clumsy block letters, praying to anyone he can think of that it’s the right entrance. 

 

The door bangs loudly against the wall, and Harry trips over his own gangly limbs while trying to catch it, falling flat on his face on the mat. His boss, a sweet lady named Eleanor about ten years his senior, rushes over to help him up and begins dusting him off, tutting as she takes in his misbuttoned tight white shirt and scuffed black shoes. _At least he remembered black socks_ , Harry thinks as his face flushes cherry red.

 

“Right then, punch in using one of the punchcards, and then Louis will get you started,” Eleanor instructs as she helps him to his feet. “And fix your shirt, love, before Danielle sees you, there’s a lad.” She tosses over her shoulder as she opens a different set of doors and exits, presumably going back to the office for a while. 

 

Harry blinks as he sorts through what she just said, fixing his shirt absentmindedly as the name “ _Louis_ ” echoes through his head again. He stops short, and takes in his surroundings for the first time. Of _course_ , he and Eleanor weren’t alone in the kitchen, and a slight boy with a perfect fringe ambles over, helping his stiff and uncoordinated fingers negotiate the uncooperative buttons of his shirt. 

 

“Hi,” he mumbles shyly, as the boy, _Louis_ , removes his hands from his shoulders, smiling up at him from under the lengthiest eyelashes Harry’s ever seen. His eyes are blue, too, Harry belatedly realizes.

 

“Hey, mate. Don’t worry about that landing; I brained myself on the ice outside my first day. Clumsiness is practically in the job description here.” Louis smiles as he speaks, clearly trying to put Harry at ease. “Now, then, let’s get your catering gear, shall we? I don’t know if we have an apron long enough for you, but we’ll set you up as best we can. Come on, we’re meant to start bread baskets and salt and pepper shakers before Liam and Zayn get here, mate.”

 

Harry blinks again, before nodding dumbly and following after Louis like a puppy, in _awe_ of the boy in front of him.

 

Louis leads him to the office, Harry standing awkwardly outside the door while Louis goes in to get his “gear.” _What exactly does a server at a catering company need in terms of supplies?_ Harry wonders. Louis had mentioned an apron, which has the potential to be embarrassing, but Harry soothes his own nerves by telling himself that everyone will be wearing one. Besides, as a new uni student, he couldn’t exactly afford to be picky when it came to job offers. He had applied everywhere, and couldn’t manage to get a single interview until Nick put a good word in for him here, so he was determined to make the best of it.

 

Harry is drawn out of his musings by Louis’s reappearance. “Let’s get back into the kitchen and I’ll help you with this, yeah?” Louis asks quickly, already leading Harry back through the door through which they came. Harry rushes after him, nerves setting in. 

 

“What - I mean, what exactly is there to put on?” Harry’s voice wobbles as he asks Louis the question, hands shaking a bit. He’s never done well in new situations, but this is a bit ridiculous. 

 

Louis seems to recognize the symptoms of first-day jitters, and he lays a hand on Harry’s arm and squeezes in a way that has Harry unclenching his shoulders from up around his neck, letting out a shaky breath. “Hey, nothing to fret about. We’re all nice here, and no one will get mad if you mess up on day one, mate,” Louis’s voice is soothing, and Harry belatedly notices that the apron is already settled around his neck, and Louis’s hands are fiddling with a small black thing covered in plastic. “Right, let’s get your bowtie on and get started, shall we, Curly?” Louis smiles at Harry as he reaches behind him to clip the bowtie together around his neck. With one final pat to the back of Harry’s neck, Louis is gone, grabbing baskets off of a high shelf next to Harry.

 

Harry shakes his head a bit in hopes of clearing it, and moves to pull baskets from the back of the shelf, an area that Louis clearly won’t be able to reach. Louis notices, and sends a grateful smile Harry’s way, huffing out a breath as he walks over and deposits his load on the long metal table in the middle of the kitchen.

 

Harry follows with his own stack, letting out a cackle-laugh as Louis’s hand sneaks to his side and _tickles,_ the dirty bugger, Louis joining in his laughter after hearing Harry’s chuckles. 

 

“Be right back, love, will you grab the butter out of the walk-in behind you? It’s in a big white box, can’t miss it.” Louis has already turned the corner, a slight bounce in his step.

 

“Sure,” Harry calls back, a smile on his face. He’s going to like this job, he can just feel it.


End file.
